Necrophysic
by The . L O S T . Paperclip
Summary: -"It worked, Brother! You're here in my arms now - and on the walls and floor and bedrolls, but most of you is here and they can nevernevernever take you away from me again . . ." .:I'm experimenting with formatting, so criticism is welcome:.
1. The Little Black Rock

**N**._e_c_**r**_**o**p_h_y**s**ic

_**Disclaimer:** I do not not own Oblivion. Psyche. Not really. Uh, not._

. . .Yeah.

-:-

_**One:**_

**The Little Black Rock**

-:-

_**IseetheRed**_

_There's so much blood . . ._

_**can'tyouseeit?**_

_. . . Now I know what he was thinking when . . ._

_**the Red looks good on you, Brother**_

_. . . Lachance took his family away and . . ._

_**do you like it? I promise it'll stay there. I'll keep it there for you, Brother**_

_. . . he kept his mother's head and . . ._

_**but our mother is badbadbad she did this**_

_. . .dedicated so many years . . . _

_**brotherbrotherdearestbrother can't you see what they did to us?**_

_. . . wasted his entire life . . ._

_**but you'll never leave me . . . Right, Brother? We'll always be together**_

_Bellamont is dedicated to accomplishing his goal (he doesn't see me we've never spoken but I can smell him – he smells of home, he smells of Brother; Bellamont is my brother too now so please please- Brother, I can still hear you screaming **screaming** what did they do to you to us to us us us they did this to us why can't you see thisiswhattheydidtous)_

_**always together**_

_You're in pieces now._

_**WHY ARE YOU NOT ANGRY AT THEM, BROTHER? THEY TOOK THEM ALL AWAY. WE NEED TO KILL THEM, BROTHER, WE NEED TO KILL THEM ALL FOR WHAT THEY DID TO US. WHY DO YOU NOT AGREE- WHY DO YOU NOT LET ME PURSUE THE VENGEANCE WE BOTH NEED SO MUCH? WE ****NEED THIS, BROTHER, FOR US, FOR US, FOR YOU YOU YOU I WILL KILL THEM ALL FOR YOU BROTHER**_

_But I will bring you back. Properly. And then we can be together again._

_**right, Brother?**_

_You answer me. And I listen. And I really know that I can fix you, Brother. I can fix you if you'll let me._

-:-

Have you ever heard the phrase, '_memories come flooding back'_?

Well, now I realise that there does indeed seem to be some basis to it. At first, you are left floundering around in a strange state of mind, trying to make sense of the little you can take in. Considering the state of your body and your surroundings and attempting to make some connections to reality; to figure out what's going on, what happened, what to do next.

_There's no light (**am I blind?**) but I can see (**what can I see?**) and there are these noises, maybe voices; there's people here – wait, just one person, one voice. Who is that? I can't feel anything – not my hands, not pain, not **anything** – and this scares me a lot (**did I pass out? Am I dreaming?**)._

Then suddenly it all comes back to you, and you are left lying in a ditch, unable to move, surrounded by sweet-smelling shit and wishing you could have just stayed in the oblivious respite of ignorance.

Bodies. Everywhere. But I can't see them, I can't smell them; I just know they're there. And what they look like and smell like. And I can still hear a voice, but I know it's impossible because I have nothing to hear it with any more.

I want to cry; I _try_ to cry, just to prove that I still can, but nothing happens. I _don't_ feel a lump of dread in my throat, oozing to the pit of my stomach. I _can't_ pinch myself to allow me to feel something; anything but this _numbness_.

There is no point in trying to move; I know that it is impossible. I don't even _have_ a body. Not any more.

_(I know what happened now. Is she okay? Is my sister alright?)_

But _they_ have bodies; lifeless things weighing down their own souls, keeping them tied temporarily to this world.

I envy them, oh, I envy them so much.

My container is not of flesh any more. I would be vomiting right now if it were. I would be looking for my sister, making sure she is alright, and I would be wondering why I was even alive after what I did for her. And after what _she_ did for _me_.

But I know I am not alive; not completely human any more. I am just a soul, just a mind, bound to a little black rock with the blood of my baby sister. If she's dead, if she died because of me . . .

Bound my that thought, I am left reeling with a blank mind. _If my little sister is gone-_

I can't even finish the thought.

There is still that one voice; that ringing, tiny, high, cracked, hollow voice-

-:-

We accomplished it. I can't believe it worked it worked it worked. Brother! Brother, you're here in my arms now! And on the walls and floor and bedrolls, but most of you is here (_talking to me, pleading with me, ordering me to stop this foolishness but I know you want it too, Brother, you want this as much as I do, we need to kill them all, Brother, we need to kill them for what they did_) and I have you and I will never let you go again Brother Brother Brother _dearest Brother_ I love you so much Brother please please pleaseplease_pleasepleaseplease_ . . .

Never leave me again, Brother . . .

. . . _Please_ . . .

I thought you were gone. I thought I was dying. I'm still dying (_for you_) because you _are_ dead and gone but you're still here and I know that I did something bad but I fixed it, Brother! I fixed it (_for you_)! I'll fix you, too, Brother, I promise, please (_for you_) please I promise I will fix you, Brother.

Please let me fix you . . .

My face is burning. I detest these organs. The ones plunged into two holes in my skull. They won't stop boiling my face, making it wet, uncomfortable, I hate it I hate them _my eyes_ I don't want them any more. I wish I didn't have them. I don't want them to be there; I want them to have never existed. I don't want to see, I don't want to see this I don't want to remember any of it I hate it hate it hate it _please Idon'twanttoseethis-_

Noises in my ears, in my brain; coming from me, from my mouth, this cursed tongue. I hate my tongue; wish it would stop flapping around in my mouth, wish I would stop making noises like that. Babbling, babbling, like everything isn't okay and it'll never get better.

But it will get better. You'll see. I'll get a rock for Father, too. Put his name on it. And Eril, and S'Jaasa, and Meritt, and Enon, and Austavia, and Little Elii and- and-

They won't come back, though. They don't deserve it. They were weakweakweak (_Little Elii was four and they killed him but he was being weak – he ran away he left us to die as well, Brother; they left us, and now they're all dead because of __**them**__ because of __**her**__ because __**she**__ did this to us_).

But _you_ will come back to me, Brother. You were strong. Mother was badbadbad a bad person she did this to us (_she made __**them**__ do this to us_) but you were strong and now you are back a little and I will fix you properly now, Brother. Just stay with me.

Stop disagreeing with me Brother. Please? Please, can I kill them all? For us? For what they did?

No?

Brother . . .

When will you see that it is not us at fault here? The Mages will die. The Guard will die. The Priests will die. We will live and everything will be okay and we will be happy forever, Brother.

"_. . . Forever is a very long time, Vasha. Just try to survive. Please."_

That's not an answer, Brother. Not **the** answer.

But I don't want to hurt you, and killing them (_killing **her** killing **Mother**_) will hurt you, but I wish it wouldn't. You can't see the darkness in her, Brother, but I can. She is already dead and dying inside to have done this to us, to us, to her _partner_ to her _children_ to her _family_ to **us**. Brother . . .

Please let me kill them. Please.

No?

. . . Okay . . .

-:-

_**# Author's Note:** Wow. I wrote this months ago, during my own little spat of insanity, and I realise that it is chilling and confusing and, well, a lot of things. I think I'll post it as a three-shot, three chapters long. It's already written, so I'll probably post it next week - but reviews can change my mind :)_

_Oh, and I have no idea how the girl knows the innermost secrets of Matthieu Bellamont. Just go with it. I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote it, and I can't hope to interpret it now. My mind is a rather scary place to dwell. __Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, in spite of the confusion. Some things will be cleared up in the next chapter, which will be about the girl's brother and what happened to make her so vehement about her mother.  
_

_**Review!**_


	2. Hall of Maggots

**N**._e_c_**r**_**o**p_h_y**s**ic

_-:-_

_**Two:**_

**Hall of Maggots**

-:-

Flies can smell death from up to ten miles away.

It's no wonder they come to visit me often.

Blowflies are usually the first insects to come into contact with carrion, being the most common. They begin spawning immediately, laying eggs in open wounds and every orifice they can find. Two hundred eggs per batch. They breed like rabbits, as the saying goes – only faster . . . and there are a lot more of them _**(Flies make that particular saying a tad redundant, don't they?)**_. It's always interesting to watch them swarm around a corpse.

It takes around ten hours for the eggs to hatch into larvae.

Now we get to the _interesting_ part.

Watching those tiny white maggots devour a body from the inside out is surely a thing of beauty; if left undisturbed for seventy-two hours, there will be no trace of flesh or fly at all. So many lives, created and sustained solely on the flesh of another. They do not kill, but live off the bodies of those already dead. Scavengers. Making use of what is given. The fact that, in their adult stage, they transfer diseases and death to other creatures only proves that they are able to overcome the many illnesses that bring other species to their knees.

. . . If that is the case, then why do people despise them so? Their methods of survival are no worse than that of humans themselves.

Who are they, to put a greater value on a life – to say humans are any better than the maggots that feed on them?

Humans kill, and make no use of the death they create.

Necromancers are more like flies than people. We are scavengers; we are survivors.

Or, that's what Mother tells me. But I don't think I can believe that any more.

I was eleven at the time; when those Mages raided our home, slaughtered our family members slaughtered as a "warning". I don't remember it well any more _**(memories have become distant to me lately, after what happened; after she made me into **_**this**_**)**_, but there were definitely a lot of tears; a lot of blood. Running and screaming. My father holding my little sister's hand, trying to wake her as she slept soundly through the carnage.

I know that much, at least.

_**(She had never been right in the head – abnormal, distant behaviour – when she wasn't **_**watching**_** she was **_**waiting**_**, and I was the only one that would take care of her)**_

They are all cut down.

_**(The thick boot that crushes the maggots that infest this cave.)**_

But I can save one _**(I have to believe that I can save her)**_. I know I can save my sister.

Throwing spells at the invaders, using my own body to shield her, taking the brunt of the damage – _all_ of the damage – as I scoop her up _**(Father went to the front of the cave to fight, and I never saw him again)**_ and try to reach the alcove that will keep her from harm . A secret door hidden in stone, used for stashing treasure.

Vasha is precious to me. She is the jewel of the family – _my real family_, not the Necromancers in this damp cave. But she is better than all of them put together anyway. Worth more. More precious.

Most of them won't agree _**(no one really liked her but me, they all treated her as some sort of sick pet)**_. Maybe someone will stop me. There are better people to save. Their own blood-kin, their partners and children. But I need this for Vasha.

We reach the alcove but it is filled, the room taken up completely by Little Elii and his mother, but a shivering bundle of flesh.

I cannot bring myself to throw them out. Elii, age three, would never survive without his mother. Putting Vasha inside and closing the stone door would kill all three of them. The alcove is small – too small for human habitation. I curse and then Vasha and I are flying towards another room, the training room, filled with mouldy coffins and sickly sweet corpses.

_**(The corpses smell of home; everyone here smells that way. It is a safety blanket that reminds us we are family. No one should betray anyone – **_**Mother couldn't have betrayed anyone, not in her state–****_)_**

I hear voices, explosions, screams of my adopted family as they are cut down one by one.

In a rash and desperate move, I throw Vasha into a coffin, shushing her cries – she knows what's going on now, at least vaguely, _she knows we're all going to die_ – and throwing an invisibility spell over her. I only have time to drag a pair of filled coffins over the top to stop anyone getting to her _**(I never once considered how she would get out again – how could I be so inconsiderately stupid?**_**)** when I hear S'Jaasa cry out.

There is a mace in her head. I see that much before her body is shoved violently away from the entrance to the room, and then the Mages storm in.

I almost scream.

The Mages smell of soap and cotton and I cannot stand their presence in my home. But what I cannot _bear_, what limits my ability to fight back, is the presence of my mother.

My mother is _at their side_, wearing their robes, a fearful expression on her chalky white face. Almost as white as her hair. It all makes the deep bags under her eyes look that much more unnatural.

A shock courses through my body; fire is shooting from someone's hand and I can feel it dragging through my veins, charring and cracking my flesh.

I could fight back.

. . . No. I can't fight back.

Not if Mother will be harmed.

One of them moves in with that horrible spiked mace, that blood-covered weapon that killed my Khajiit aunt. We were never blood-related, few of us are, but we are family in any case. Family does not kill family. We fight for each other, not against.

Mother didn't do this. She couldn't have.

The mace collides with my chest and I am brought to my knees, winded and broken.

Mother didn't do this.

She didn't betray us.

She didn't sell out her own children and lover and brothers and sisters.

The mace arcs towards my head.

I am still frozen. I can't bring myself to lift an arm and destroy the Mages, the traitor.

But Mother isn't a traitor. She can't betray us _**(she's not all there in the head either; she didn't have the **_**capacity**_** to betray us like this)**_.

She would never betray us.

Crushing pain. Icy terror and hopeless regret.

Then I suppose I died.

-:-

_Have you ever heard the phrase, _'memories come flooding back_'_?

-:-

I remember what happened in those terrible few moments of fear and pain in which I knew I was going to die._**(Dying, dying, dead**_**.)**

It takes me longer to figure out what had happened after that. Why I am still able to think. Why I can't move. Why I can't breathe.

_**(I feel like I have been asleep for the longest time. It's . . . funny. And scary.)**_

I recognise Vahsa's small voice talking to me – _nonsense, most of it, but she's never made much sense_ – but I catch some things. Eventually _**(minutes? Hours? Days?)**_ I figure out what had happened to me.

She had never been right in the head.

She could never understand the value others placed in life.

She will never know that I would have preferred to stay dead.

_**(I may be a Necromancer, but I am not without morals. Twisted and often dubious morals, yes, but morals all the same.)**_

_**(I wonder if Vasha ever grasped the concept of morals? Did she know what she was doing when she cut the toes off rats and stuck them up her nose?)**_

What she has done now sickens me.

Necromancy is a dangerous art. Brutal to both the subject and the practitioner. The cost to bring someone back from the dead – for real, with body, mind and soul intact – is simply too great. Vasha knows this. Though she may be mentally deviant, she is not stupid.

But her compromise is unforgivable.

I cannot see or hear, but I **know **what is happening – what she has done – all the same.

My dearest little sister has damned my soul by binding it to an object of the Dark Arts, and done a thing that no one has managed in recorded history – she has captured and bound my mind with it.

_**(I can think. I wouldn't have believed it of anyone else if I were not living it at this very moment. I am an impossibility. This doesn't happen; I couldn't have been using sentient minds in black rituals all that time . . .)**_

And she has rebuilt my body – nothing but brittle bone, which makes me wonder how long I have been _asleep_. I **know** it is standing there. Upright. Powered by a stone, by something Vasha has willingly poured her life into. How much of herself has she sacrificed to bring me back to this fragmented form?

_**(You make me sick, little sister. It pains me to think this. For all those years you dragged yourself around, watching and waiting like a vulture over an animal that refuses to die. I thought you would pull through, eventually. You had to pull through. I believed that in time you would get better, that you would stop having fits of madness and cease re-enacting your twisted nightmares. But when the time finally came for you to act . . . This was a vile, selfish decision.)**_

Recovery isn't even an option for us any more.

All I can do is to tell my dear little sister _**(I cannot figure out how she hears me, but she answers all the same)**_ to stay alive.

Her madness scares me.

I had no idea that the sweet, innocent, mildly deranged thing I was protecting could be so malicious.

_**(No, you can't kill Mother. She couldn't betray us like that.)**_

_**(Vasha, calm down before you hurt yourself.)**_

_**(Vasha, stop hurting yourself.)**_

_**(You must stop this madness. Please.)**_

In truth, I am scared of _her_. What she could do if she had the chance to leave the cave. Her mind is deteriorating.

_**(. . . No, Vasha. We ran out of sweetrolls a long time ago.)**_

She will kill a lot of innocent people if she survives.

_**(Don't leave the cave! No, you must stay here.)**_

The mouldy bread will run out. The apples will rot away.

_**(Stay here.)**_

I can't . . . I'm not . . . able. I can't take care of her any more. She will die if she leaves! She will die if she stays!

_**(No, Vasha, I'm not crying. I can't cry. Remember?)**_

She doesn't remember. She really doesn't know what she has done to me.

_**(Can you . . . can you at least get rid of the body?)**_

She doesn't. My skeleton stands there, mindless as ever. I don't want it there. It makes me uncomfortable. She has to get rid of it.

I wish I had the strength to ask her to get rid of _me_.

But, as always, I only exist to make her happy. I have never minded before. She was all I had, and vice versa. Mother was never capable of taking care of herself, let alone four children.

Vasha doesn't know this. I never told her that we both had two older siblings – I can't even remember their names. It's just as well, because they both died when our town was burned to the ground. I was only three, and Vasha was still in Mother's womb. She needn't know. She might get dangerous ideas.

_**(I wish I could keep you alive, Vasha, but you will have to do that on your own.)**_

I think she understands.

_**(No! Mother has done nothing wrong! She was forced – or she may have simply wandered off! She did not betray us!)**_

But that only made things worse.

-:-

_**# Author's Note: **Wow, I still managed a late update even though this chapter was mostly done when I had posted the first. I wasn't happy with the original version of this chapter – it didn't explain much, aside from the massacre – so I added some more. I hope this clears some things up. Maybe. And I hope you enjoyed it, even though it wasn't as insane as the last one!_

_**Review!**_


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